


Chaos For The Fly

by sextipsfortheapocalypse



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Bottom Baz, Crying During Sex, First Time, Fite Me For My Head Cannon, M/M, Vampires Cannot Get Boners, Waste Of Magick and Condoms and Baz's Effort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12951126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sextipsfortheapocalypse/pseuds/sextipsfortheapocalypse
Summary: Baz is ready to shift their relationship from snogging to shagging. He has a whole plan figured, but you know what they say about best laid plans.Or: The one where I have a megaphone and scream about how Baz is a questionable power bottom and shamelessly use my head cannon that vampires cannot have erections.





	Chaos For The Fly

It's dreadfully awkward.

Baz staring at Simon. Simon staring at Baz. Haphazard states of dress and a collection of lubes and condoms on the bed side.

There is an unlit candle, the only thing erect in the whole room, its phallic shape a damn mockery to the situation Baz find himself in.

Baz feels too stiff, and not in the way he wants to be. He studied diligently. Learned erogenous zones and about the nuisance differences between silicon and water based lubes. Even bought every size condom he could grab and the clerk probably thought him a right hussy by the sheer quantity and variety. _Crowley_ , he had practiced putting condoms on vegetables.

He had even fed so his skin could flush and react prettily like Simon liked.

This couldn't be happening.

Everything was going so well. Baz had special ordered a glossy, silken robe. Lavender and sinfully clingy and thin, sure to slip off his shoulder rakishly. And he had even curled his hair – without magick. He had used Normal rollers and pins and heat and products that were tastefully scented and cost an obscene amount.

Baz thought nothing would have ever been worth the effort, but the look on Snow's face when he walked in was delicious. That gobsmacked slacked jaw, those expressive brows, the way auburn curls simply flopped in the way of deceptively average blue eyes.

Of course, Baz had been tactfully lounging in wait. Because there was no subtle way to let Simon Snow know that he was ready to go beyond snogging into shagging. Nor was it terribly in Baz's nature to not make the biggest scene he could.

“Oh,” Baz had said, not too long ago when everything was perfect, lofty and breezy, still flushed from the hunt. “you're home.” Like it was some surprise that Simon had come home to his own flat.

“...yeah.” Simon said, because he really wasn't paying attention to anything but the way raven hair feathered against pink cheeks, how lazy grey eyes drooped. Baz looked like he had the best secret to tell, and all Simon had to do was come closer.

“I missed you.” Baz had sighed, and his gown slid with the movement. Revealing the peaks of his collar bone, and the healthy flush on the very tips of his shoulders.

And, like magick, they were snogging – really snogging - and everything was perfect. 

It wasn't their usual snog. It was as glorious as their first, except the fire was inside them now. Burning and suffocating and hot.

They had tumbled to the bedroom in a grope of messy limbs, wings and tail adding another level of ridiculousness that was so quintessentially Simon that Baz couldn't find it in himself to be irritated, just terribly bothered in the best of ways.

He went to magick the candle to light, but Simon swallowed his words; “You'll burn,” lightly murmured against his lips. Baz wanted to tell him he was already ablaze. That the feel of Simon's erection against his hip was sinful and searing, like a brand, but words came out as smoke. Vaporous and meaningless.

Baz, for the after life of him, couldn't fathom why Simon had pulled away so abruptly.

“Can vampires not get erections?” Simon asks, in his infuriating simple way. Tail twitching nervously, his only tell, and Baz feels mortified that Simon fucking Snow is actively attempting to be the calm one.

Baz opens his mouth to speak, uselessly. Suddenly, he wishes he hadn't fed at all, because he feels how hot and flushed his face is becoming. He honestly has no fucking clue.

Why wasn't there a pamphlet or something?

“Baz-”

“I haven't the fucking foggiest, Snow!”

Simon quickly cast his gaze down. Tail a nervous whip behind him, wings hunched low like he can hide. Baz wishes he could hide.

This is humiliating. Baz is certainly aroused. His body is thrumming with it, not dissimilar to when Simon's power had rushed through him. A maddening tingle is everywhere, he still feels branded by Simon. This is what he had been plotting every time he watched Snow sleep. This is what he thought about in the restless moments of adolescence and it was slipping away because of some vampire malarkey. 

“Are you nervous? We've never...ya know,” He shrugs his shoulders, eyes still lowered, and he has taken to playing with the condoms. Opening the foils and twisting the slimy things around his fingers. 

He is such a git. Regardless, Baz loves him.

“I want you with such ardent desperation, Simon.”

Simon smiles, some of his teeth aren't straight, but his smile is perfect. Warm and welcoming, if not a little sheepish. “So it isn't me? It is just...one of our things? Like being a Magician Vampire and a Normal Creature? You like when I touch you?”

Simon is hunching at the end of the bed, and Baz casts him closer with a crooked finger, “ **Come Hither**.”

He doesn't even try to fight the magick, just crawls up until he is properly caging Baz against the bed. Tinny condom wrappers aren't exactly rose petals, but with how Baz looks lying in them – flushed and shy and so very eager – they damn well could be.

“I don't like when you touch me, Snow.” Baz scoffs, putting a cold front up just long enough to ruffle Simon's non-existent feathers, before melting back into a soppy, love-sick look. “I love it.”

They kiss again. Gentle pecks that are just sparks feeding the growing flame. Baz makes a personal quest to seek out and kiss every freckle and mole, he spends eternity on Simon's shoulders, where they are smattered together thickly. While Simon's hands tuck into every crevice possible, slipping that outrageously unnecessary gown away, his slick fingers leaving glistening trails, crossed thrice over.

Baz pulls far enough back to nibble at Simon's ear, careful of his fangs, to tease, “Those condoms served a higher purpose than your fiddling, Snow.”

“Simon.”

Baz rolls his eyes, huffs his annoyance right into the whorl of Snow's ear, “Simon.”

The git grins, and teeters about the bed to find the discarded lube and a condom that wasn't subjected to nervous tearing. Simon's tail is lashing about like an overjoyed mutt and his wings are fluttering softly, as if he wants to take flight. Cock jutting from his opened trousers obscenely, pink and wet.

Baz's fangs ache with every pulse he can see of that thick vein filling Simon's cock. How sweet that blood would be? He cannot help but wonder.

“Fuck's sake take your trousers off – and Crowley, are you still wearing socks, Simon?”

Simon sticks his tongue out, but shimmies out of his clothing with little complaint. “Sorry we all don't lounge in dressing gowns like royalty.”

Baz knows spells – he didn't settle for mere Normal research on this subject – and he could have himself ready now – Simon could be inside him now – but Simon has the lube in his hands – wanker just picked the one that smelled the best, disregarding hours of thought, and Baz honestly wonders why he bothered – and is rubbing his hands together to warm it up, looking at Baz like he is a wonder.

Simon is clueless, Baz knows, but he loves him so terribly much, so gently, that it is painful in its own right. Blue eyes lock onto grey, make a show of looking at Baz's soft member, warm and worthless against his thigh. It is a silent question, and Baz does not look away as he nods.

This is just like having wings and a tail. Like having fangs and needing to drink blood. It isn't typical in the least, but it is their normal. Baz is charmed by it now, rather than mortified. Simon has always had the particular ability to make him feel good about himself.

Simon nudges Baz's legs open, resting pale thighs on his own. Baz doesn't feel exposed with Simon crowding so close, wings restless and outstretched, his tail settling to wrap possessively around Baz's ankle.

“I'm wasting away, Snow.”

Simon snarks something back, but it is lost to Baz as Simon finally begins to tentatively rub against his entrance. Baz is soft still, yet his body is so very reactive. He keens at the gentle touch, wriggling towards it.

“Have patience.”

“No.”

“Baz.”

“Seven years, Snow. Seven years.”

There is nothing Simon can really say to that. He eases a finger inside, watching as Baz arches into it, lips forced back as his fangs flash – retract in, burst out, repeat. Raven hair tousled against the pillows, sticking to his temples and slick around his ears. Baz is a vision, but Simon always knew that.

Another finger slips in, and Simon is a bit nervous at the snugness. How Baz spasms around the invasion yet rolls his hips into it like it's addictive. 

“Mmm – fuck. You are going to feel glorious inside me, Simon.” Baz lavishes him with incoherent babbling. Dirty sentences and filthy phrases. Delicious sounds and throaty moans slide off that wicked tongue uncensored. Simon is going to go mental listening to it.

So he adds another. Rubbing the slick inner walls like a musician learning how to get just the right note from his instrument. And Baz is simultaneously too taunt and too loose, but every sound is the sweetest sound in the symphony.

Or Simon assumed that no sight nor sound could be sweeter until he hooked his fingers just so and Baz burst into an unforgettable crescendo. His fangs dropped fully, pupils blown black and wild. Simon could understand completely, in that moment, why those tarts in books always get whisked off by vampires.

Because Baz was the epitome of dark seduction and nightly promises. Of black brackish waters and starless nights.

Simon would have gladly let Baz drain every bit of his blood if he was in the right of mind to ask. 

Baz crashed against the sheets again, trembling and panting wetly. He looked wrecked, hips still twitching against Simon's fingers.

There was a sloppy mess of spunk on his belly. Simon trailed his fingers through it, a tad punch drunk.

“Did you...? Is this?”

“Eloquent as always, Simon.” Baz regards him lazily, bonelessly. “One does not need to be erect to ejaculate.”

“Crowley...” Simon knew he was staring, breathing loudly through his mouth like Baz hated, but he was caught up in the lavished way his boyfriend was sprawled beneath him.

The warm, fuzzy feeling that he got between waking and sleeping was heavy in the air. Baz's hair was frizzy and everything was bloody perfect for once. 

Simon tucked frizzy curls behind Baz's ears, thumb caressing the severe slopes of his lover's face. He even gave a playful tug to Baz's nose – and Baz laughed, giddy and sleepy. Even kissed Simon's hand as it explored. 

Baz kept smiling, dazed. All soft and warm. His hair smells nice, so Simon kisses his widow's peak, then his lips. Hypnotic little presses whilst he fumbles for a condom.

“ **That's a Wrap**!” Baz sniggered, as Simon's face was vaguely appalled by his choice in words. “Did the job, didn't it?” He defended, all delirious, toothy smiles and frizzy curls poking from behind his ears.

Simon vowed that he would tease Baz for using pop culture magick later – to put on a condom, no less, but for now he was all to eager to press into Baz. Melt into him and kiss his pompous hairline as he eased into Baz, slow and steady. Wings whipping up a breeze and tail flickering madly.

Baz clung to Simon helplessly. Mouthing sloppy kisses to his neck and flipping ardent curls from his face whenever Simon's wings ruffled his hair badly. It was annoying and wonderful in equal measures. The warmth of Simon, the slow burn of being filled, even the tail beating a staccato tempo for his heart to follow was better than seven years of imagining could produce.

And fuck, Baz was crying. Fat, watery tears that clumped his lashes together and ran down to his ears. Simon kissed him as he hiccuped, held his face tenderly even though his right hand was still sticky. Baz appreciated the gesture regardless.

They rocked together lazily with wet kisses and watery words. 

“Prophecy is true, you have destroyed me, Simon Snow.” Baz is still crying, and he realizes it is a bit much to say, even for the sake of melodrama, but it remains true.

Loving Simon has ruined him so utterly – it's fantastic. He never liked who he was before.

Simon answers with more fevered kisses, little nips and bites. His wings knock the candle over – good thing it wasn't lit after all – and whatever shaky rhythm they established is lost in the race towards the end. Baz urges him heatedly, hooking Simon closer with his legs, raking his nails down his back in neat, white lines.

Baz watches Simon go off. Memorizes the bright, hot feel inside him. The way Simon tenses then melts into him, tail contently flicking about and wings arced wide.

Simon is a heavy, bleary weight against him, but Baz cherishes it. Pulls Simon closer by his thatch of hair and snogs him with post-coital abandon. Until their kisses barely meet and their eyes grow too heavy to open.

In the haze of not-quite sleep, Simon mutters against Baz's neck, his hand twitching where it lay loosely coiled in raven locks. Baz blinks, realizes with only a small twinge of sorrow what Simon is attempting, he takes his hand and mutters as well, “ **Clean as a Whistle**.”

Tomorrow he will snarkily remind Snow that **Clean as a Whistle** only works on visible dirt.

**Author's Note:**

> Baz is a bottom ya'll. *insert peace sign emoji* 
> 
> Might make this a series of one shots dealing with this particular trope.


End file.
